


Taking a Chance

by magickbeing



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickbeing/pseuds/magickbeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek takes a chance by inviting Spencer on a dinner date.</p>
<p>Spencer tries to prove it was worth it by taking a chance of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking a Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerbubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerbubbles/gifts).



> For Veronica (kerbubbles/thespoopygenius), who requested fluff. Happy Birthday, darling! <3<3 I hope it's a good one!

He supposed it was romantic—a sunset in a park. Derek had, no doubt, brought dozens of women—maybe even men—to see similar sights—and Spencer knew he should be entranced by the way Derek's skin glowed in the fading light—the way his eyes twinkled. And any other time he would be—but right then, on their first date—it was difficult to focus on anything more than the bundle of nerves that had wound itself around either lung and pressed itself against the pits of his stomach. He felt like a complete idiot. Their dinner had been quiet, full of awkward chatter that had never really existed in their friendship—he had managed all of two hundred and thirty nine words in the span of an hour—most of which related to one statistic or another—and he wouldn't be surprised if Derek regretted taking this chance—taking a chance on _him._

 

He stared at the ground, a muscle along his jaw twitching, only half-aware of Derek's body close to his, their hands bumping occasionally as they walked.

 

He licked his lips. He needed to do something—needed to show Derek that he wanted this—he did—but he didn't know how. He was so frightened, so afraid Derek was going to reject him even though _Derek_ had asked _him_ out to dinner—even though _Derek_ had made it _perfectly_ clear the sort of dinner he wanted it to be.

 

A date.

 

_Their_ date.

 

Their  _first_ date and Jesus Christ, Spencer was making a royal mess of it.

 

Their hands bumped again and Spencer startled at the contact, eyes sweeping over to the the hand that dangled close to his. A sudden idea implanted itself in his mind and before he could second-guess himself, before he could lose his will, Spencer reached in his jacket pocket. 

 

“Morgan—“ he tasted the word as it left his lips, swallowing nervously before pressing on, “—can you hold this?” Spencer's closed fist swept down from his pocket and then up and toward his left hand. Derek looked over at him, a slight, bare smile touching his lips, a crease between his eyebrows.

 

“Sure, kid,” he answered easily, opening his hand toward Spencer's.

 

Spencer's heart was loud in his ears. He pressed the underside of his fist to Derek's open palm, his knuckles brushing against warm skin. He could do this—he had faced down his fair share of gunmen, of serial killers and psychopaths. He had been bullied relentlessly for the better part of his life and yet he was still there, stronger than before—he had helped care for his schizophrenic mother since he was a toddler. He could do this, dammit. And so, before his courage could abandon him, Spencer opened his fist against Derek's hand, fingers swiping out, against the lines of his palm, and down to interweave between thicker digits.

 

Spencer's hand was empty.

 

Derek's, however, was not, and Spencer's reward was a reverberating chuckle, Derek's smile pulling further to either side, growing to show teeth. His fingers easily folded around Spencer's hand, bending so that his fingertips were slotted between his knuckles, and the contact sent a myriad of butterflies through Spencer's stomach.

 

“Smooth, pretty boy,” he teased, his grin touching his eyes.

 

Color painted itself across Spencer's face, warm and tingling, and he gave Derek a broad—but shy—smile of his own.

 

“I was taking notes,” he countered, the words soft.

 

Derek barked out a laugh, his hand tightening briefly around his. “You're a quick study.”

 

Spencer cleared his throat, the color of his face darkening as he managed, “You haven't seen anything yet.”

 

His eyebrows crawled up his forehead, making his smile appear almost comical, and Derek side-stepped Spencer so that he was in front of him, causing both men to stop. His forehead smoothed, smile softening, and his eyes were almost challenging as he asked, “Is that so?”

 

No. Scratch that. Not _almost_ challenging—they were—and the butterflies in Spencer's stomach shot up to lift his heart. This was his it—his chance—and it didn't take a genius to realize that. His mouth was suddenly dry and if it was physically possible for his palms to become soaked with sweat in a matter of milliseconds, he was fairly certain they would. He drew in a deep, stuttering breath, knowing he needed to reply but unable to fathom speaking—his lungs tightened at the thought itself and Spencer's heart seemed to skip a beat. 

 

He settled with nodding, his false bravado stripped, replaced with nervous anticipation.

 

Derek's smile had melted in the few moments they had been staring at each other and yet it was obvious in his tone—it laced his words as his challenge became verbal: “Well,  _Spencer—_ “ his smile was especially apparent around his name, “c'mon... show me what you've got.”

 

He felt as if his stomach dropped at the request, as if it fell from his body and to the ground with a hollow thud—physically impossible, of course—well, without the aid of surgical tools— _no, focus._

 

His eyes searched Derek's briefly. His hand was warm around his and he had no reason to be as nervous as he was—Derek wanted this—him—but he found certain emotions were beyond his control, beyond logic, and his body practically  _hummed_ with his anxiety. As if sensing his fear—and Hell, Derek probably could—he always could, it seemed—Derek shifted, leaning closer to him and in turn inviting him to do the same. He could smell Derek's cologne, rich and familiar, and his courage returned in a fleeting rush. Before it could slip from his person again, Spencer leaned forward to close the distance, closing his eyes and angling his mouth up and to Derek's.

 

Their lips brushed together and he could feel Derek's exhale against his burning cheeks.

 

He drew in a greedy breath of his own, letting their shared air nestle against his lungs, and pressed his mouth more firmly against his. He had read several kissing techniques—observed dozens more, be it on television or walking past a crowded, romantic cafe—and yet every single piece of knowledge he had regarding the action abandoned him when he needed it most. He was left with nothing but his instinct, with his desire, and so he hesitantly moved his lips against Derek's. Derek's mouth was especially responsive, it seemed, although patient and pliant beneath his—he let Spencer guide the kiss, let his lips move delicately against his before pressing more firmly, before slotting against the lines of his mouth and opening to breathe him in. Spencer swiped his tongue against the line of his bottom lip, tasting him, and he felt Derek move closer, their chests touching as the kiss deepened.

 

His hand in his—their lips pressed together—chests bumping—it was perfect.

 

There was no other contact—not then—as if the moment wouldn't allow it, as if it was already bursting at the seams. Derek's tongue touched his and lightning cut through his chest, robbing him of air, and Spencer was forced to disconnect to draw in a stuttering breath, lungs aching.

 

He opened his eyes to peer into Derek's; he could see the smile against the corners of his eyes, small, warm lines, and Derek's voice was breathless in its own way as he said, “Damn, pretty boy—you're just full of surprises.”

 

It was Spencer's turn to laugh, his smile answering Derek's as his heart tried returning to his chest. He squeezed Derek's hand gently and Derek's fingertips brushed against his knuckles in reply.

 

He could  _so_ do this.

 

Instead of even attempting a reply, Spencer leaned forward to press his lips against his again.


End file.
